


Small Ideas

by aPaperCupCut



Category: Everyman HYBRID, Marble Hornets, Slender Man Mythos, Tribe Twelve
Genre: Gen, but theyre not that bad so im posting them, i dont have any plans to come back to these, unfinished/abandoned works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:34:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28646877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aPaperCupCut/pseuds/aPaperCupCut
Summary: Different fanfics for various Slenderverse stuff that I never finished and currently don't plan to finish, but are still ok. If I ever pick up the ideas I jotted down but never wrote, I'll post them here as well.CH1: LISTENING IN [EverymanHYBRID & Marble Hornets] (November 2018, January 2019; unclear what the ending was going to be, but intended as a oneshot with ambiguity. Either way, somewhat close to completion. Summary: Alex Koval meets Alex Kralie. Sequel to WATCHING YOU.)CH2: Feeling Alright [TribeTwelve & Marble Hornets] (November 2018; wrote out outline, knew what the ending was going to be. Discontinued efforts to write it due to finding discomfort with character interaction. Planned to be ~9 segments - although 4 of those were more like intermissions - but only got 3 segments through. Summary: Noah meets Masky. Then he meets Tim.)
Kudos: 5





	1. LISTENING IN

**Author's Note:**

> To be clear: I'm just tired of these sitting in my google drive, and tbh i dont dislike em, so why not post em ? so, here they are. normally - as i did in the past - i prefer to post unfinished works separately. but im tired and im lazy and like??? who cares??? u know?? so, here they are.

“Shouldn't you be asleep?” A voice.

He was pacing, back and forth, skin crawling. The night hung heavy over him; every once in awhile, a sound blemished the chattering noise of his teeth. People, wandering around upstairs; he shook that thought from his mind, knowing full well no one was there.

Jeff wasn't home. Alex was alone.

He wasn't sure if he was sick, or coming down with something - his skin felt too tight, clammy and uncomfortable. His mouth was too dry, and his teeth ached. Outside, the wind sang a quiet song. It was enough to occupy his thoughts, enough to take away the unease.

But…

Alex was exiting the room, clambering clumsily down the stairs, before he could really consider it. He needed out -  _ out, _ he needed to get  _ out _ \- and the hallways blurred. The door was a barrier of unknown colour, and he had to stop and twist his neck, shaking his head in an effort to clear the violet hue from his dizzy brain.

The doorknob wavered under his reaching fingers, wobbling as if underwater. But he persisted - he  _ persisted, _ with no idea as to why. Behind him, perhaps angry at his sudden departure, he could hear the animal knock against the walls, against the furniture. It wasn't wanted, and it knew. It wasn't happy.

He shuddered, considering the doorknob. It still shook, but he grasped it in his second attempt. It turned with ease, and his dread climbed, a throbbing, ill thing, pulsating up his throat. Alex gagged as the smell hit him.

“Wh-what…?”

It was bent and broken, sweat clinging to it, its clothes soaked. It kept making noises - faint, faint sounds, gross and wet. It tried to reach for him.

He took its hand. The body warmth, the colour - it was human. A human was laying, limp and so very, very  _ wrong, _ on his doorstep, and he stood there, doing nothing.

The thought snapped him to attention. He wrestled to lift the other, but he managed. The masculine frame was light, almost too light, but it was awkward, a struggle to hold and drag into the warm foyer.

His own dread and strange feverishness forgotten, he caught the flicker of eyes, before the door swung shut.

.

The creature -  _ human, _ it was  _ human, _ it just… didn't look like it at the moment - splayed its arms over the lip of the tub, the water soaking its dirty clothing. He knew he should've taken off the soggy, muddy garments, but he shuddered at the idea. Practical as it was, he couldn't bring himself to do that to someone so unaware of their surroundings.

The man - was it a man? he wasn't sure - groaned softly, turning their head in the water. He had to scramble to catch them before they slipped under, and they slid around, nearly nestling their cheek against the crook of his arm. Alex buzzed underneath his skin, trapped and suffocating.

They seemed so bizarrely vague to his senses. Like they belonged somewhere else,  _ somewhen _ else. They had round features, messy brown hair, human imperfections more than enough to convince him they were there - yet, he felt like he was holding air.

Amidst his wandering, bewildered thoughts, the other lay limply in the water, shaking intermittently. He didn't attempt to wash them; Alex was already deeply uncomfortable, and he really didn't want to do that much. He had to do  _ something, _ though, so he got himself moving after several minutes of letting the stranger soak in the warm water.

Alex pulled the man out, wrapping them in a large towel, and turned to drain the water.

“...Jay…?”

He didn't make a sound - thank god - but he jumped, heart screaming in his ears. He whipped around, but the man… was leaning against the wall, dead to the world in their sleep. He let out a relieved exhale, feeling his face flush. Throwing the weird, possibly paranoia induced sound out of his mind, he got back to work.

Alex carefully brought the being upstairs, into Jeff’s bedroom. Jeff wouldn't mind. He hoped not, anyway.

Once there, he realised that leaving them in their clothes just wouldn't work. They were almost vibrating, shivering as their water soaked clothing chilled. Alex sighed, weariness and exhaustion weighing heavily on him. He could feel the pounding migraine return with a vengeance, his hands shaking in a horrible mimicry of the man.

Gently, he took off each garment, halting each time the other made a small sound in their sleep. He only removed the jacket and thin shirt, inhaling sharply through his teeth when he saw the cuts and scars crisscrossing the man’s thin chest. What had happened to them? Did… did something attack them?

Alex wrapped them in the comforter, falling back limply on the bed, right beside the other's legs. He closed his eyes, listening as they shivered and groaned occasionally, listening as the heater whirred inside the walls. And he slipped into a dreamless doze.

.

Alex couldn't remember where he had gone. Couldn't remember anything, after leaving the house. Where was he? What had happened?

He woke in pieces. First was the cold and the damp; he could feel the condensation on his exposed skin, rolling droplets that shifted as he breathed. The sensation of cotton curling around his joints was almost uncomfortable, but as the room’s noises began filtering into his brain, he found himself folding inward, pulling the blankets tighter around him. Entangling him.

A muffled sound reached him; another voice, raw with drowsiness, wordless and masculine. Alex froze. Movement. By his ankles; it rustles closer, then the unmistakable groan of someone sitting up.

“Ugh… What was I…”

Alex squeezed himself, heart pounding so hard that it was as if his ribcage was a slowly compacting trap. God, was his mouth dry; his teeth  _ ache. _

“Oh,” the voice says, and he knows it is standing, he  _ knows _ it is beginning to lean over him, he  _ knows it must see his fluttering eyes, his pulsating breath, bleeding heart and popping pus,  _ purple all gone through him. His eyes are open ( _ when? _ ) and all he can see is the blankets he's unknowingly blinded himself with, soft and dark but he knows the colour, just as it shakes and writhes under him, inside him.

“Hey? You awake?” A hand. On his shoulder. “Are you ok…?”

He sits up, an eerie calm falling over him. False and sweet, and absolutely necessary, for if he's--

Oh.

The man - young, youth dripping like an ichor from his pores - is of a harmless disposition; hair shorn short and stiff, of meaningless, washed out colour. He is so very nondescript that Alex can't stop his body from immediately loosening, relaxing as the threat - unspoken and driven by faith - vanishes.

“Um,” the guy says, and Alex startles. “Oh, shit. Um.”

Alex doesn't speak, unwilling to prompt any kind of unseen thing to act. Instead, he ignores the stranger's fumbling, carefully and subtly taking a better glance around the room. It's fairly average, too; painted blue, dim and dark without the light on. It's filled with junk, but Alex's attention passes right over it, instead finding the solitary window. Outside, the wind howls. A rainstorm?

“Yeah, it started just after you fell asleep.”

Alex jerks his head, realizing that, despite his attempt at subtlety, the other had caught his roving eyes. He doesn't say anything, and the stranger sighs at him.

“I should… Yeah, um,” the guy coughs, sounding painfully nervous. “You were just on my doorstep. Brought you in, cleaned you up… s-sorry…”

Alex knows he's quite shirtless, and fuck,  _ it really is fucking bothering him, _ but he just stares at the other, feeling his lip curl in a barely there snarl. As if unable to take Alex’s unspoken displeasure, the stranger thrusts his hands out, and there are his garments. He takes the shirt, but the jacket…

He takes it, trying to swallow past the hesitation. Trying to ignore it. ( _ It's his, he knows it is, it must be. _ )

  
  



	2. Feeling Alright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mentioned in the summary of this work that I abandoned this fic mostly because the character interaction rubbed me the wrong way. tbh, i dont know how else to say it, but ill try my best. masky/tim is a difficult, but fun character to write. HOWEVER, for whatever reason... as i was writing this, more and more, i began to feel like i was... gah, hard to find the words to say ? to put it bluntly - i think racoons are cute, yes ? i also think masky looks like a cute raccoon. this whole fic came about because i got the idea of masky picking up the habit of digging through trash for treasures like a raccoon. and noah catches him, and they get into misadventures cuz of course they do. but, as i was writing - for one thing, it seems... bad? wrong? idk. just bad to write masky/tim doing that. and then comparing him to an animal? idk, man, the whole idea began to really rub me the wrong way, made me very uncomfortable. and knowing that i had set it up so that noah, as an abrasive character type, would probably talk abt it?
> 
> i guess as ive gotten older, comparing even fictional characters to animals... i mean, i get it, but for some reason... itll always at least upset me a little bit, even as i try to pretend it doesnt. the only exceptions are things spoken specifically in canon. otherwise, idk.
> 
> this whole ramble is pointless, but eh. gettin it off my chest. also i legit dunno what happened/is happening with the guy who made tribetwelve, except that all signs point to him being an absolutely gross bastard. *shrug emoji*
> 
> another note: this was gonna be an experimental style, hence the twitter chapters, as well as camera pov and then third person limited pov.
> 
> heres the complete outline btw:
> 
> ch1: steals camera
> 
> ch1.5: twitter
> 
> ch2: tim returns camera, get stuck in house with noah. pain attack (? meant as panic attack instead, i assume its a typo), wards off slendy, masky
> 
> ch2.5: twitter update
> 
> ch3: update; trapped in house several days with masky. firebrand begins communication (i actually can recall the rough draft i wrote in my head. mostly it was noah being creeped out by masky slav squatting on his washing machine when he got up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night. this wasnt at all a serious fic lmao)
> 
> ch3.5: firebrand and noah and masky and collective communication on twitter (i... kind of recall a draft of this as well...? it was all of em bickering using the same twitter account. not serious at all omygod)
> 
> ch4: collective attacks house; tim comes back and chases them away. the house unlocks, letting them out. (recall this faintly too! tim just yelled and panicked a lot, running at them, and i cant recall exactly why - something slenderman something - but they were really freaked out by him?)
> 
> ch4.5: twitter radio silence apology, explanation
> 
> ch5: tim departs, with good wishes from firebrand and noah. takes a long ride. ends at hello to jay. (a plot thread: tim's depressed and although jay survived, he's avoided talking to him. the fic ends with tim getting the courage and assurance he needs to reach out to his friend and reconcile what happened.)
> 
> by all means, if this fic sounds like ur cup o tea and u wanna write it, i dont mind giving it to u to be adopted or whatever. u can comment if ur interested, or just contact me via tunglr.hell (via echo-leech.tumblr.com), whichever ur comfy with. hell - id prefer gettin notified if ya want it, but *shrug emoji* i dont keep up with slenderverse stuff nowadays, u can legit steal this and i wont care lmao

The camera whirrs, a near silent thing in the still room. Noah is motionless, dead asleep; only the veneer of green allows the image to bleed into the camera’s view.

There's a sound outside.

Noah twitches, limbs reaching out toward his phone. He checks the time, then rolls over, exasperation and irritation exuding from him. But the sound outside restarts, as if it had known the man wouldn't investigate instantly.

Noah covers his head, shoulders tense, fully prepared to ignore it - but there's a whisper, faintly picked up by the camera. A whisper, barely there, but the man sits up in a flash of movement, and stomps over to the closet. He pulls the source out and throws it on the bed, climbs in along with it, and--

There's a sound outside.

He stiffens, alarm rippling through his frame. Noah stands, caution and unease in every movement. The camera stares as he picks it up, jostling it, giving a shot of the man's feet as he hastens to the front door.

The porch light is on. There is a noise, similar to the noise a racoon or some other pest would make, just to the left; perhaps just some animal digging through the trash. But Noah pauses, several feet away from the door. It seems to glow in the darkness of the room.

The camera is whipped around, showing a close up of Noah squinting at it with tired eyes.

“Alright,” the man whispers, sleep roughening his voice. He shoots a look to the door, and a bead of sweat trickles down his face. “I heard a sound outside. Didn't think much, but that stupid fucking journal said some, ugh, shit about it.”

He rubs his face, and looks down in disgust at his hand, no doubt mildly horrified at the grease that clings to his palm from his face. “A-anyway, I'm. Going to fuckin’ investigate. Like all those other fucking idiots…”

He trails off, grumbling under his breath. All throughout his diatribe, there is the rustling outside.

Noah approaches the door, the camera swaying at his chest height. Strangely, there is only a short pause in the noises when he opens the door, freezing at its creak. It resumes after only a few heartbeats, and the camera is lifted just a little higher. Noah, his hand shaking it ever so slightly, makes his way toward the disturbance.

Behind them, the unintelligible whisper of something dangerous reaches the camera. Noah doesn't appear to listen to the warning.

The porch light is set just above the trashcans; a small effort to dissuade the Floridian wildlife, and perhaps it could be concluded as ineffective - if what was currently digging through one of the cans was an animal. The image distorts, a split second of interference - words flash by, a mess of letters and numbers - before resettling. A residual buzz of sound and a sharpening of the image, dull clicks interrupting the video, continuing to deform the image.

“What.”

The man startles badly, scrambling out from the trashcan, where he had been buried nearly waist deep. He whirls around, completely soundless - and the light suddenly ups the contrast, nearly making the figure a blur, a figment - before it oversaturates, a steady roar of static climbing and climbing, and the camera locks on the man.

“The fuck!” Noah jostles the camera, taking several steps forward. “What the fuck is this shit!”

The man stays still, letting the camera capture him, even as its eye deforms and twists, switching between oversaturation and high contrast, static bursting in and out. He stands, legs apart, broad shoulders held back, head slightly cocked.

He wears a mask - eyes dark pits, lips coloured black.

“You better fuckin’ answer, man, cuz I'm gonna call the goddamn police, if you--”

The man charges, a sudden screech of interference drowning Noah’s yell, the image falling apart, barely intelligible. The camera is almost dropped as Noah struggles, the two wrestling each other down. The image flashes, cutting in and out, the screech still overlaying the pants and grunts as the man tries to keep Noah down.

Suddenly, as if a flip is switched, the man grabs for the camera, still clenched in Noah’s grip. The two tug it back and forth, spinning the image again and again, between the sweaty, sleep deprived man and the broad shouldered, masked stranger.

Noah gives one last gasp of pain as the man suddenly shoves his knee into the other’s gut, and he lets the camera go.

For several long moments, there is only the sway of sprinting, the choked, angry shouts of the camera’s owner following the stranger as he flees. The darkness is near pitch black, but the distortion has vanished. There is only the thin afterimage of trees, rushing by.

Then, there is a crack, and the image goes black.

* * *

**Noah Maxwell** @TribeTwelve • ■■■■■

what. the hell

**Noah Maxwell** @TribeTwelve • ■■■■■

posting whats on the memory card.

**Noah Maxwell** @TribeTwelve • ■■■■■

it wont shut up. cant even understand what its saying.

**Noah Maxwell** @TribeTwelve • ■■■■■

fuck. ive got a huge ass lump on my head. at least this provides a distraction. feels nice to be angry instead of so tired

**Noah Maxwell** @TribeTwelve • ■■■■■

so some motherfucker stole my camera. oh well. ive got a back up.

* * *

“Ok, ok, finally. This thing's much more beat up than I thought it was, took forever…” Noah trails off, and fidgets with the camera. He turns it, looking into a mirror hanging in the hallway. There's a knocking on the front door, and he turns toward it, disgruntled. “Hold on! Jesus fucking Christ.”

He looks back at the mirror, eyes glinting with something hard. Addressing the unseen audience, he says, “Seeing as how the last time I opened the door, it was to that…  _ asshole,  _ I think I'm perfectly justified in being an asshole, too.”

Noah sneers, then swings the camera around to the front door. The light coming in through the glass appears sickly, for a moment, and there's a buffer - but it fades just as Noah opens the door.

The man standing there is wearing oddly familiar clothing. He stands slouched, bags under his eyes and a slight greasiness in his hair, denoting a rough lifestyle. He has something in his hand. He flinches as his eyes land on the camera, but he gamely, if awkwardly, smiles. A blink - a flash of faint words, black and white and sharp - and then it passes.

“Um… Hi.” The man fidgets, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “I… found this? It says to return, to, um, ‘Noah Maxwell’? It listed this address.”

He reveals a camera - the same camera that Noah had lost. It has a few scratches on its exterior, but is otherwise unharmed. Noah doesn't take it.

“Where did you find it.”

The man looks surprised, dark eyes wide. He runs his free hand through his hair, expression grim. “I don't know. Don't have the best memory.”

Noah’s anger makes him shake, and the camera jitters with him. The other man appears to be growing even more nervous.

“I don't have the best memory, either, but I'm sure as fuck not a moron,” Noah snarls, looming over the shorter man. The stranger takes a few steps back, and something flashes in his eyes. He knows something. “For God’s sake, you're wearing the same clothes! Tell me what you  _ want, _ jackass!”

With that said, Noah jabs a finger at the stranger, who begins to breathe unsteadily. The camera bursts with white noise, and the video shuts off.

.

“Are you fucking kidding me.”

The camera in his hands smokes, letting out faint crackles of electricity. It burns his hand, but he refuses to let it go. And then Noah looks up, back to the cowering motherfucker who stole his perfectly functional camera, leaving him with his crappy backup.

There's something standing in the driveway.

“Are you FUCKING SHITTING ME?!”

The stranger twists around, and screams.

Noah scrambles - he reacts entirely on instinct. It just so happens that what he does goes against his guttural instinct to  _ flee, _ but he's gotten used to his reactions being as random as the monster’s visits. Always annoying, always completely nonsensical, and yet, somehow, they still  _ happen. _

So Noah grabs the thief’s arm, manhandles the shrieking man into his house, slams the door, and locks it.

They both collapse, Noah against the wall, and the asshole on the floor, feet sprawled. Noah chances a look outside, and grins wildly to himself.

The bastard’s still there, of course. But Noah flings the middle finger back at it, and it flickers out of view. That's better than any alternative that he can think of.


End file.
